


The Raven Was Called Sin

by whiskyandoldspice (Itsirtou)



Category: Prison Break
Genre: Drunk Michael, M/M, Pre-Series, emotionally stunted Lincoln, prison break fic exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-24
Updated: 2012-09-24
Packaged: 2017-11-15 00:25:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/521090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itsirtou/pseuds/whiskyandoldspice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pre-series.  Lincoln helps Michael through a difficult night in the only way he understands how.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Raven Was Called Sin

**Author's Note:**

> The three elements to be included in the story were: a body of water (okay, I kind of cheated on that one), a moment of mirth in the midst of hardship or despair, unexpected tenderness. I took those and included my own: Michael wet in a tuxedo.

  
. . . . . . . . .

_What matters is love, blood, family. You._

. . . . . . . . .

 

There's a half empty bottle of Jack Daniels on the kitchen counter, and the shower is running.

Lincoln sets down his thick rubber gloves, evidence of the latest in a long line of odd jobs he's tried to hold over the last year. This one is construction, and he comes home each day sore and bone tired, too exhausted to talk to Michael. Their nights usually include a quick, microwaved dinner, Lincoln in front of the television and Michael sitting at the kitchen table doing his homework, and then they both go to bed. He knows that the life they have isn't the one Michael thought they would, once Lincoln got out of jail for the latest of his mistakes.

Tonight is different, or was supposed to be. Lincoln smiles faintly as he takes off his work shirt, thinking that Michael is the first kid to ever come home from high school prom before eleven. He flicks on the radio and goes about making himself a turkey sandwich.

It's twenty minutes later, Lincoln is done eating, and the shower is still running.

Lincoln pauses in front of the door to the bathroom, unsure. He's managed to stay out of jail for the past year and a half, but he and Michael are still on shaky ground. God, what he wouldn't do to get inside his kid brother's head sometimes.

There's steam rising between his toes, coming from underneath the door of the shower. Lincoln knocks, and when there's no reply, he pushes the door open gently.

"Mikey?" he says softly, and then, "Jesus, Michael!"

Michael looks up at Lincoln with dull eyes from where he sits in the corner of the bathtub. Long, lanky legs are pulled up to his chest, where he hugs them like a little kid after a nightmare; his hair hangs in his face in dripping strands. The jacket of his tux is slung over the towel rack, but he's still wearing the rest of it; the white shirt clings to the muscles of his back. His shirtsleeves are rolled up, the whiteness of the fabric standing out against the smooth tan of his skin. Steam billows up around him from the shower.

"Linc," he says. His voice is very quiet.

Lincoln hesitates for only a moment before stepping into the tub.

Scalding water hits his back, making him wince, and he feels his shirt and pants immediately begin to soak up the water. Michael stares at him, and Lincoln hates himself for the disbelieving quality of Michael's gaze, hates himself because for a few seconds, Michael doubted that Lincoln would comfort him.

He kneels down and gathers Michael into his arms, just how he remembers their mother used to do, and Michael doesn't so much fall into his embrace as collapses into it. Hands cling to Lincoln's shirt, gripping the material so hard that Lincoln's afraid it will rip. He can feel Michael's shoulders shaking. He needs to know what to say, but he doesn't.

So he holds Michael, gently rubbing his shoulders and back, as Michael grows quieter in his arms. His knees are hurting from kneeling on the tub floor, and he knows Michael is uncomfortable too, but neither of them move. This is the only time Lincoln has ever seen Michael cry, and he hates himself just a little bit more, because he knows that it's only because Michael has hidden it from him. When Lincoln realizes that, it's as painful as if someone had just dug a thumb deep into a healing wound.

He doesn't ask Michael what's wrong, only because he knows Michael won't tell him. The knowledge of that makes it a little hard to breathe, like someone has wrapped a black band around his chest and pulled it too tight. It's coupled with the realization that this is the first time he has ever been there for Michael, that even though Michael seems so strong and smart to him, he can be hurt, and has been.

All he wants to do is protect Michael, and he can't even do that right.

He doesn't know what to say to Michael, as Michael's shoulders stop shaking and the muscles in his back relax. The silence is stifling to Lincoln, broken only by the soft patter of the slowly-cooling water on their bodies and the shower walls.

So he takes Michael by the shoulders, and kisses him.

Michael's lips are slack with shock, and he tastes salty from tears, sour from the whiskey. Lincoln cups Michael's face with his hands and kisses him like Michael is something infinitely delicate.

"Lincoln," Michael whispers against his lips, and his eyes are shut tight, as if he's afraid to open them. "What are you doing?"

"I never do anything for you, Mikey," he says softly, leaning his forehead against Michael's. "I've tried, but I can't be a good parent for you; I can't even be a brother. I just want -- " And here he has to stop, because there's a lump in his throat, and Michael has opened his eyes, the bright blue of them so striking that Lincoln can't believe he's never noticed.

"What?" Michael asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I want you to smile," Lincoln says. The effort it takes to say the words is almost painful. "I want you to be happy, and I want to be a part of it. I just want to know how to fucking help you."

Michael's eyes widen. He puts his hand on Lincoln's face, mirroring the position Lincoln's own hand is in, and traces the outline of Lincoln's cheekbone with his thumb. He smiles, and it's shaky and unsure but it's still the most beautiful fucking thing that Lincoln's ever seen. Michael tugs him forward into a hug, tucking his head underneath Lincoln's chin, and his breath puffs softly against Lincoln's neck. Lincoln reaches back to turn off the cooling stream of water.

"At least it wasn't pig blood, right?" he says, and Michael lets out a genuine snort of laughter.

"No," Michael answers, leaning back. "But I do have telepathic powers." His eyes are twinkling.

Lincoln raises an eyebrow, playing along, so glad to see Michael smiling that it hurts. "So, what am I thinking now, Carrie?"

Michael grins. "That you want me to do this." He leans forward and presses soft lips against Lincoln's own. The inside of his mouth is hot and slick, and Lincoln groans, helpless, wrapping his arms around Michael's back and dragging him closer. Fingers fumbling clumsily with the buttons of Michael's shirt, Lincoln breaks off the kiss and growls angrily. Michael laughs and helps him, and then Lincoln is running his hands over Michael's smooth, hot skin, and he feels through his fingertips when Michael sucks in a deep breath, almost a gasp.

Michael reaches for him, tugging on the hem of his shirt, as Lincoln works on the black pants. Lincoln wiggles out of his boxers and then suddenly it's skin against skin, wet with water and sweat, and Michael lets out a long, low moan as Lincoln presses him down to the floor of the tub.

"We're really doing this," Michael says, a dazed, wondering tone to this voice. He closes his eyes as Lincoln presses a kiss to the outside of his mouth, just enough for Lincoln to feel the barest hint of lips. Michael breathes out, and a small, soft noise comes with the breath, just barely loud enough for Lincoln to hear.

Lincoln smiles against his mouth, slides both hands over Michael's slick torso, his fingertips brushing lightly over each rib, pressing softly, trying to memorize his body by touch alone. When he comes to a sensitive spot on Michael's body -- beneath his ear, his collarbone, on the inside of his thigh -- he saves the knowledge, if only so he can pretend this will happen again. He wants it to, so fucking badly, and maybe it's some screwed-up synapse in his brain but this, to him, seems like the purest form of love he can express. The one way that he can really convince Michael how much he is loved.

Michael lets out a sobbing breath above him as Lincoln dips his tongue into Michael's navel. "God, Lincoln -- please, _please_ \--" Lincoln moves his mouth lower, and Michael's hands clutch at his shoulders, the back of his neck.

"G-god," Michael stutters desperately, and there's a scared quality in his voice; Michael's eyes are shut tightly, his body shaking with sensation. _Just let it go,_ Lincoln thinks, seeing the strain in the muscles of Michael's neck as he presses his head against the shower floor, understanding Michael's desperate wish not to have to lose control. _Come on, Michael._

" _Lincoln_ ," Michael sobs once, his hands clawing desperately at the floor, and comes, convulsing as Lincoln smoothes his hands up and down Michael's trembling thighs. Lincoln moves up Michael's body and kisses him, as Michael lays there and trembles, making soft sounds against his mouth; quieter, shivery versions of the ones just wrenched from him.

When Lincoln finally slides into him, he clutches Michael close to his body, pressing their foreheads together, eyes closed with sensation and some strange, almost hurtful emotion that he tries so hard not to identify. Michael feels so fucking good inside; Lincoln kisses him as he thrusts into Michael's body, swallowing Michael's pretty, pretty moans even before they escape.

"Linc --" Michael turns his head aside, closing his eyes and panting, helpless under Lincoln's touch.

"I love you," Lincoln gasps, pressing desperate, open-mouthed kisses onto his brother's collarbone and neck. "I love you so fucking much."

Michael lets out a high, keening noise, and Lincoln feels hot wetness splash across his belly, and Michael is so beautiful that Lincoln can't help it, he comes with a long, low groan, the knowledge that he just came in his brother, his beautiful Michael, wringing a few final shudders from his body.

And just as soon as Lincoln thinks he has control over himself again, he starts to pull himself out of Michael's body.

 But Michael whispers, "Please stay," and Lincoln knows he's powerless again. So he stays, feeling Michael's heartbeat pulsing around him, hearing Michael's soft breaths as they slow, wanting more, wanting everything.

"Don't leave me," Michael whispers. Lincoln wraps his arms around him, holding him closely, like something precious, as fragile as glass.

 

 


End file.
